...there Is No Old Age Of The

The Stillness In Art Characterizes Prayer, And The Eye Of The Storm.

Because I Have Become Such A Solitary, And Not In The Aristotelian Sense: Not A Beast, Not A God. Rather, A Loner Troubled By Longings, Incapable Of Finding A Suitable Language And Despairing At The Impossibility Of Composing Messages In A Playable Key--as If I No Longer Understood The Codes Used By The Estimable People Who Wanted To Hear From Me And Would Have So Much To Reply If Only The Impediments Were Taken Away.

You Never Have To Change Anything You Got Up In The Middle Of The Night To Write.

How Could I Be Anything But A Dissenter? Who Wants The Opinion Of A Group?

Retirement Is An Illusion. Not A Reward But A Mantrap. The Bankrupt Underside Of Success. A Shortcut To Death. Golf Courses Are Too Much Like Cemeteries.